


From Hell to Breakfast

by subjunctive



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another world, two women met differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Hell to Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FalconHorus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconHorus/gifts).



> I took your prompt for an AU, hope you enjoy this. Happy FemslashEx, FalconHorus!

The first few days after Abbie had found Katrina - covered in dirt and mud, ranting and raving about places and people Abbie hadn't heard of since U.S. History class in tenth grade - Katrina had gotten very quiet and spent nearly all her time indoors, meaning in Abbie's apartment. Her lips seemed pressed together permanently in a thin line that showed her displeasure (with Abbie, with her situation, God knew what, _Abbie_ certainly didn't) without words. The woman just - followed her home. Abbie didn't know quite what to do with her, there was clearly a long story there, but she felt obliged to do _something_. Even if she didn't know what.

The woman, Katrina, spent her time doing what looked like nothing. She was observant, especially of Abbie - who felt the weight of her gaze keenly - but said little and did even less. Was she processing her situation? Recovering from some trauma? Whenever Abbie got up in the morning, Katrina had already folded the bed back into the couch and sat there, eyes red-rimmed and looking more like a ghost than a human being. On more than one morning, Abbie wondered whether she'd slept at all.

The few times Abbie tried to initiate a real conversation with Katrina, or ask her questions about herself, she was rebuffed. (The one time she'd brought up something that Katrina had said - about some guy named Ichabod - she'd been treated to the only deep emotion on Katrina's face she'd seen yet: horror and grief, all of which dissolved into tears. It didn't take an interrogator's instinct to see that something was very wrong.)

After nearly a week of being haunted by a quiet, drawn shadow, Abbie woke up to the smells of breakfast. The kinds of smells that made her think she was still dreaming. The kinds of smells she hardly ever encountered anymore, except at the occasional diner visit, and which reminded her, painfully, of Corbin.

To take her mind off that, Abbie focused. There was definitely bacon in that smell. Maybe sausage. Potatoes? Not the fare of intruders bent on robbery or violence. With a growing suspicion, Abbie turned off her alarm, which hadn't gone off yet, put on her uniform, and set out to investigate.

She found Katrina in her kitchen, bustling about like she lived here. There were three - three! - pans on the stove. Abbie was a one-pot-meal kind of cook. More surprising than that were Katrina's energetic movements and sense of purpose. Gone was the living zombie who had, as far as Abbie had been able to tell, sat on the couch all day.

"You're up early," was the only thing Abbie could think to say, stunned into standing still. It was a strange feeling; she didn't quite know what to do with herself, as if she were a guest in someone else's house. She tucked a thumb into her belt loop.

"You're not," returned Katrina, with a little asperity. "Is it customary for people in this era to sleep so late?"

Ah. She was still going with the I'm-a-transplant-from-the-eighteenth-century story. _Wondered if it might have faded by now, but I guess not,_ she thought. Abbie decided she would play along for now; maybe she would be easier to deal with that way. "Yes. We like it that way. _I_ like it that way."

Katrina sniffed in response. Cautiously, Abbie took a seat at her counter and watched. There _was_ bacon, already fried, what looked like potatoes and onions, sausage links, and eggs sitting out on the counter.

"There is coffee, if you would like some," Katrina added generously.

Abbie stared at her. "I don't have a coffee machine. I just go to Starbucks." A thought occurred to her. "Which is, uh, a place where you go to buy -"

"Coffee? Yes, I am familiar with coffee-houses. I discovered a press and ground beans in one of your cupboards, along with instructions for its use. An ingenious device." Katrina dropped the full press and a coffee mug on the counter in front of Abbie, then turned back to the pans.

Completely lost and not sure what else to do, Abbie poured herself a cup and got some sugar and milk from the fridge. Maybe Katrina would be offended if Abbie rejected her offering, wasn't hospitality some kind of important Old World thing -

And now she was thinking like Katrina's crazy story was _true_. Abbie knew it was obviously ridiculously, outrageously, heinously untrue. Because it _couldn't_ be true. But. She couldn't push the idea away entirely. Maybe something about Katrina's way of speaking (so old-timey) and accent was working on her, subconsciously.

Plus, she was frying eggs. That endeared her to Abbie _a lot_.

The coffee was pretty old - a secret Santa gift from a coworker, if she remembered right - but Abbie's cautious sip proved worthwhile. It was _good_ , bold without being dark, and didn't taste stale at all. She took a bigger gulp.

"I have also discovered," continued Katrina, apropos of nothing that Abbie could see, "that there is some substance affixed to the surface of many of your pans."

"That would be teflon. Uh, that means the pans are non-stick. That food won't stick to them, I mean. Thank you for the coffee, by the way. It's really good." Abbie stared down at her mug, still baffled and feeling betrayed.

"Very useful. I am glad to see that scientific progress has not neglected the domestic sphere. And you are quite welcome." With Abbie's only wooden spoon - the plastic and silicone utensils rested untouched in their holder - she stirred the potatoes, sending up aromas that went straight to Abbie's saliva glands and sent them into overdrive. Despite the allure of breakfast food, however, Abbie knew she had a responsibility for this poor woman.

"So you're talking and doing stuff now," said Abbie slowly, in invitation.

"Well-observed, Leftenant." Abbie could hear the hint of a smile in her voice. Katrina got two plates from the cabinet and began assembling breakfast, apparently for the both of them.

"I thought," she continued, "that we would need a hearty breakfast to fortify us. I inquired as to the typical repast of this era, and used money from your petty cash to buy goods. The clerk was most helpful in describing how to put together a meal. I do hope everything has turned out to your liking."

Good lord, what was Abbie supposed to do with that? "Hearty's good," she said cautiously. She almost left it there, but decided to reach out instead, fishing for more conversation, more information and understanding. "I'm a cop, I could probably use more . . . fortification, in the mornings. Honestly, I usually just grab a bagel to go. I haven't had a real breakfast in . . . who knows how long."

"'Bagels to go' are hardly sufficient sustenance for the kind of work we are to do, Leftenant." Was that a hint of reproof?

"The kind of work _we_ do," repeated Abbie, leaning back. Her tone betrayed her skepticism and amusement. "We meaning you and I. I wasn't aware we were co-workers, Katrina."

Two plates appeared on the counter, with silverware, and Katrina took the seat next to Abbie, handing her a napkin. Abbie spread it over her lap, feeling just a little bit crazy, but like she should go along with it.

The eggs looked perfectly over easy. Abbie poked the yolk with a fork, smearing the yellow goodness everywhere, and waited for more information.

Katrina began eating primly, slicing everything into neat little bites. Between sausage links, she dropped her fork and took up Abbie's free hand in her own. She ran her thumb over the knuckles, her eyes shining with _purpose_. "We have much to do, Leftenant Mills. You and I are the two Witnesses prophesied in the scriptures, and it is our sacred duty to avert the end of the world."

 _So that's how it's going to be,_ thought Abbie. She was torn between amusement and dismay for the state of Katrina's mind. But nothing was going to stop her from tearing into these eggs. (She did keep the one hand free that Katrina had commandeered.)


End file.
